Don't Let it Bring you Down
by Infinity Blue
Summary: Pre-rent fic. When Roger FIRST leaves for Santa Fe and meets April.
1. 1

"Where you headed?"

"Santa Fe," I answered, watching as my car was filled up with gas.

"Santa Fe, eh? Why there?"

"I've heard nice things about it," I said, not looking at him.

"So? I've heard nice things about the city too. It ain't no paradise, though."

I shrugged.

"You play?" he asked, observing the guitar case in the backseat.

"I used to," I said.

"You any good?"

I shrugged again. "I play around the city sometimes."

The man set down the oil and stood back up to his feet, wiping his hands off on his pants. "You're all set."

"Thanks," I said, sliding into the driver's seat. I slid the keys out of my pocket and put them into the ignition.

"I hope you find what you're looking for, kid," the man said, as I began to back out of the gas station.

"I'm not looking for anything," I muttered, turning on the radio. I fiddled around with the knob for a while, and kept coming up with static. 

Typical. What did I expect, buying a shitty old car for Two thousand bucks?

"A bargain!" the car dealer had insisted. My ass. I was lucky if I would get fifty miles with this piece of garbage.

Finally, I found a station that was somewhat audible, and settled on that.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and ran my fingers through my spiky, gelled hair.

Sighing, I increased the volume on the radio.

_Old man sitting by the side of the road_

_With the lorries rolling by_

_Blue moon sinking from the weight of the load_

_And the buildings scrape the sky_

I drummed my fingers along the wheel to an unsteady beat.

I reached into my back pocket for a cigarette and whipped out a lighter from the other. Right before I lit it I thought better on it, and put them both away.

The car was small, cramped. My shoulders were bent forward, and I was practically hovering on top of the wheel.

A green duffel bag on the passenger seat beside me held a few changes of clothes.

"Roger, where the hell do you think you're going?" I heard my old man's voice pounding in my head, remembering earlier this morning when he'd seen me heading out the door with my fender in one hand and the duffel bag in the other.

"I need to get out," I'd replied.

He'd smirked. "Get out? And do what? Go where? There's no where for you to go, Roger."

"I can't stay here any longer. I need to have some time to myself."

"Oh, Christ. Hey, Edna. Get a load of this!" he'd called up to my mother. "Roger's taking off. He says he needs some time for himself!"

"What's the matter, hon?" my mother had asked, as she came downstairs.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I just need some time to think," I'd said, through gritted teeth.

"Can't you think here?"

"No, I can't."

"What about college, Roger? What about your friends? Mark?"

"He knows where I'm going. And I don't want to go to college."

My father snickered. "You're headed in a bad direction, son."

"I need some time to think," I'd repeated.

"And how the hell do you expect to get anywhere? You gonna hitchhike?"

"No. I have a car."

"That car'll get you as far as White Plains, and that's it."

"I'll be fine."

My father shook his head.

"Call us when you get there, okay?" my mother's said, in a small voice.

I nodded. I walked over to the door and turned the knob. Neither of my parents bothered to say goodbye.

I slammed the door behind me.

_Cold wind ripping down the valley at dawn_

_And the morning paper flies_

_Dead man lying by the side of the road_

_With the daylight in his eyes_

The volume wasn't loud enough to block out Mark's voice racing through my head, more loud and poignant than my father's.

"You can't just leave, Roger. Don't you want to finish high school? Or go to college?"

"I don't want to go to college. And as far as I know, neither do you," I'd replied.

"Well you're better off here than in the middle of nowhere."

"I'm leaving, Mark."

He'd sighed. "Fine. Call me, okay? Keep in touch?"

I'd nodded.

"You bringing the guitar?"

"No. Why?"

"I dunno. Maybe while you're out there, you'll have found your song?"

_Blind man running through the light of the night_

_With an answer in his head_

I glanced into the review mirror to see the rusted old fender behind me, contained in an old brown leather case. Knowing it was back there provided a sort of comfort for me.

_Come on down to the river of light_

_And you can really understand_

My neck began to cramp. The seat had no support at all.

The road was empty, surprisingly. Once I'd phone home, I'd have to tell my Dad that I'd made it out of White Plains, I thought, smirking.

Why did I need to leave? I was being caged, at home. I couldn't help feeling like I had a purpose in life, one that I couldn't fulfill in the cramped space of my home.

Unexpectedly, it began to pour.

_Red lights flashing through the window in the rain_

_Can you hear the sirens moan?_

_White cane lying in the gutter in the rain_

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a young girl standing by the side of the road, holding her hand out, gesturing for a car to stop.

_…and you're walking home alone_

She looked about my age. Her long blonde hair was matted around her shoulders from the rain, and she held nothing but a newspaper over her head to keep herself from getting wet.

What did I have to lose?

I slowed to a stop beside her.

"You going somewhere?" I asked, rolling the window down.

"Somewhere . . .yes, anywhere. I'll go anywhere you can take me. As far as you can go. Just as long as it's somewhere far from here."

"My thoughts exactly," I said. "Hop in. Don't worry about getting the seat wet."

She slid into the passenger seat beside me.

I tossed the old green duffel bag into the backseat to accompany the fender.

"So, where you running from?" I asked the girl.

"What makes you think I'm running from something?"

I shrugged.

"My stepfather."

"Well, that was brief."

"He hates me. He hits me. Calls me names. I just wanted to get away from it all."

"I don't blame you. I'm taking off from my parents too."

"What'd they do to you?"

"Caged me in my home. I need my own space."

She nodded. "I understand."

We drove in silence for a moment.

_Don't let it bring you down_

_It's only castles burning_

"So, do you have a name?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "It's April."

"April . . . like the month?"

"Do you know any other kind of Aprils?" she asked, smiling, her teeth gleaming white.

I smiled too. "Mine's Roger. Not like the month."

She chuckled, softly.

_Find someone who's turning_

"Nice to meet you, Roger."

_And you will come around_

Song: Don't Let it Bring you Down by Annie Lennox. Words by Neil Young.

a/n: This isn't just a short ficlet, I'm planning to evolve it into a story. Only if you guys like, though. So review and tell me what you think to decide this story's fate ;-). Otherwise, I could just leave it the way it is.


	2. 2

"So, do you have anyone at home who'll be missing you?" April asked me. She'd slipped off her sandals and had her bare feet up on the dashboard. She hadn't bothered to ask me whether or not I minded.

"No. Well. Yes, there is _one_ person." I paused. "My best friend. Mark."

"Oh. Childhood buddy?" she asked, yawning.

I nodded. "I've known him my whole life. Since nursery school."

The corners of April's mouth turned up into a mischievous smirk. "And how long ago would that be, exactly?"

"Are you asking me how old I am?" I asked, beginning to smile.

She nodded.

"How old do I look?"

"Well, judging by the amount of gray hairs…"

I jerked my head up, nearly smacking it on the roof of the car.

"Jeez, relax, I was just joking," she laughed. "Seriously, you don't look a day over twenty."

"I turned nineteen in February."

"Oh."

"How old are you?"

She folded her arms under her chest. "Eighteen."

I raised my eyebrows. "You're not eighteen."

"No?"

I laughed. "Come on. I won't tell anyone. Besides, what would it hurt to tell me your true age?"

April sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'm seventeen."

"You see? Not so bad," I said, keeping my eyes on the road. "Why didn't you want to tell me your real age?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. The older you are, the better things work out for you."

I snickered.

April picked her head up. "What's so funny?"

"You things are easier for you the older you are?"

"Yes."

I laughed. "Sorry to burst your bubble, hon, but the older you are, the _tougher_ things get. I mean, look at m. I'm only nineteen, and already my life's a mess. My parents think I'm a mess, I'm this close to getting kicked out of school, and I was already held back one year. And college is out of the question at this point. And now I'm in a car with a girl I don't know at all, on the road to Santa Fe, with nothing there for me, not even knowing if I'll be able to make a life for myself there." I let out a whoosh of air.

"Point taken," April said, quietly.

We sat in silence for a moment.

"You hungry?" I asked, suddenly.

"I guess so. I was in such a rush to get out the door this morning that I didn't grab anything to eat."

"Doesn't look like you grabbed much of anything," I pointed out, seeing that she was only traveling with a small yellow plastic purse.

She shrugged.

"So you want to grab a bite to eat?"

"Yes. Yes, I'd like that," she said, smiling.

***

"You sure this is okay?" I whispered, as I slid into a booth with worn red leather seats.

"It's fine," she whispered back, sliding in across from me.

We'd pulled up at the first roadside diner that I was able to find. It was nothing too fancy, but then again I couldn't afford much better than this.

"You two ready to order?" a heavyweight waitress approached our booth, plucking a small golf pencil from behind her ear, ready to scribble out our orders.

I looked at April. "You know what you want?"

She nodded.

"Okay, um…I'll just have a burger. Well done, please. Oh, and uh, a coke, I guess."

"I'll have the same as him," April piped up.

The waitress scribbled everything down on a small pad of paper. "Should get your food in a bit," she said, flatly, turning to leave.

"Nice to meet a girl with an appetite," I said, once the waitress had left. "Most of the girlfriends I've had would starve themselves."

"So you're considering me a girlfriend now?"

"I didn't mean _that_," I said, starting to blush.

April laughed. "I'm just kidding. I know what you mean. My older sister used to be bulimic."

"Does she still live with your father?" I asked, dragging my finger around the rim of my glass.

"No. She's in college. I haven't seen her for almost a year."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Better she be out there than back home with my father." 

"How long have you been living alone with your father?"

"About five years. My mom died when I was eleven, and Jenny left a year ago for Columbia." 

"My parents went there. They want me to go there too. Like that'll happen," I smirked. "I'm surprised they still have enough faith in me to believe that I'll actually make it to college."

"Is it really that farfetched?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I can see just by talking to you that you're not a complete moron. You're smart," she said, simply.

I rolled my eyes. "Smart doesn't cut it. I might be that, but even so, I've missed too much school the past two years to get anywhere. I don't know where I'd apply, anyway. I'm sure as hell not going to Columbia." I paused. "But you're probably tired of hearing about what a slacker I am. You have any places you're thinking of going to?"

"I applied to Sarah Lawrence," April said.

"And?"

"I got in."

I raised my eyebrows. "So what are you doing coming out here with me? That's one of the best schools in the state! And you'd be away from your Dad, at least."

"I could never be away from my Dad," she said. "As long as he knows where I am, I can never get away."

I shook my head.

"Here you are," the Waitress said, placing a tray down on our table with a sullen look on her face.

"Thanks," I said.

She smiled primly and left once more.

"You think I'm stupid," April said, as I took a bite out of my hamburger.

"What?" I said, with my mouth full.

"You think I'm stupid for not going to Sarah Lawrence."

"Well, you have to see the situation from my point of view," I said, swallowing. "Try to see this from my perspective. I'm a slacker. My grades are barely passing, and I have nothing going for me in life. I have no chance of getting into a good college and getting away from my parents. You on the other hand got into Sarah Lawrence, one of the best schools you can get in, and you have the perfect opportunity to just leave, and be get away from everything. I'm not saying you're stupid. I just don't quite understand."

April shrugged. "I guess you can't really understand until you've been in the same house with my father."

"That bad, huh?"

"Bad enough for me to hitchhike with a guy I don't know at all, isn't it?"

I said nothing, and took a sip of my soda.

"And you want to go to Santa Fe."

"So?" I said.

"So, there's something you have going for you. You can buy a place in Santa Fe, start a new life there."

I shrugged.

April sighed and sat back, reaching for her burger.

***

I glanced at the dashboard to check the time. It was almost seven. We'd been driving straight on for almost five hours now.

I yawned. My eyelids were beginning to droop, but I forced them to stay open long enough for me to find a motel.

April was asleep in the passenger seat beside me, her head leaning against the window.

As I pulled into the parking lot outside a motel with the cheap lit up words, 'NEON LIGHTS MOTEL,' hanging above the entrance, April stirred, and opened her eyes.

"Are we stopping?" she asked, sleepily.

"Yup. We'll get a room here and get back on the road in the morning."

"Alright," she said, yawning.

I got out of the car to grab my duffel bag and my guitar case, and April took her purse from the floor of the car and followed me inside.

"Have you got a room for two?" I asked the man at the front, taking my wallet out of my pocket.

The man smirked. "We've got room for a whole village in here. You two are the only ones."

I took that as a yes, and fished a couple of twenties out of my wallet. "You take cash?" I asked.

"I'll take anything you've got, kid."

"How much?"

"With the two of you it comes out to fifty."

Must be a pretty shitty place then, I thought, handing him the money.

"Here's your key," he said, plucking it off a hook from a board in back of him.

"Thanks," I said, as April and I headed for our room.

"What room are we?" she asked, looking over my shoulder.

"Two A." I smirked. "I wonder how long it's been empty."

"As long as it has two mattresses, it's fine with me," she said, as I unlocked the door to our room.

"Well, there's _one_ mattress," I said, raising my eyebrows.

The room was small, and darkly lit. There was one tiny window above the single double bed, and a dinky TV set placed in front of the bed.

"It'll do," April said, yawning.

"You need anything to change into?" I asked. "If you want, you can borrow an old T-shirt of mine or something."

"Alright."

I raised my eyebrows. I'd thought that she would be two embarrassed.

I fished an old CBGB's T-shirt out of my bag and tossed it to her.

"Don't look," she said teasingly, going over the corner of the room.

I stared at the opposite wall, not knowing quite what to do.

"Do you play there?"

"What?" I said, careful not to look at her.

"Do you play at CBGB's?"

"I _wish_. The only band I've ever been in was a garage band." I paused. "We never made it out of the garage."

"That's too bad. Alright, you can look now," April said.

I turned to see her slide under the covers.

"So, um, we'll be sharing a bed then?" I asked, stupidly.

She shrugged. "I don't see any other beds in here."

"Okay," I said, slowly.

"You mind if I turn the light off now?"

"No."

"Okay. Goodnight, Roger."

"Night, April."

She reached over to the bedside table and turned the lamp off before bunching up the blankets around her and closing her eyes.

I changed into a T-shirt and a pair of flannel boxer pants in the dark, and slid into the bed beside her. I felt awkward doing so, but April didn't seem to mind, and soon I could hear the sound of her snoring, softly.

Soon I drifted into sleep myself.

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	3. 3

I awoke the next morning to the sound of running water.

Groggily, I turned my head to find the space beside me empty.

"April?" I called, yawning.

"In here!" Her voice answered from the bathroom.

Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hands, I slid out of bed and quickly changed into a pair of jeans and an old wrinkled white T-shirt.

When I moved my duffel bag to find my toothbrush, April's purse slid off the bed, spilling some of its contents onto the floor.

I knelt down on my knees, sweeping loose change and a few tubes of lipsticks and mascaras back into the bag. I saw that something had rolled under the bed as well, so I reached with my arm until I felt my fingers bump into a cylindrical object.

Frowning, I pulled my hand back out from under the bed, revealing a prescription bottle of small white pills. Guiltily, I glanced at the description on the label. Anti-depressants.

"I'm coming out, so don't look," I heard April call.

Quickly, I shoved the bottle back into the purse, and tossed it onto the bed seconds before April emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her.

"What did you do?" she asked, grabbing her crumpled denim sundress from the floor.

"What?" I said, nervously.

"You look like you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar," she said, smirking.

"Uh, no. Just changing," I said, lowering my eyes to the floor.

"Oh. Well, so am I. I just came out to get my clothes," she said, stepping back into the bathroom.

"I'll be ready in a sec!" she called, once the door was closed.

"Alright," I said, softly. I glanced at the cheap plastic purse, lying on its side on the bed. I wondered what else might be in there.

_You're just being paranoid_, I chided myself. _Lots of people take anti-depressants. It's not THAT much out of the ordinary._

But was I?

***

"Any station requests?" I asked, once we were back on the road.

"No. Anything's good."

"Good, because there's only one station on this goddamn thing that works," I said, grinning. I reached over and turned on the radio.

_The guitar he could not find a purpose for_

_Only pieces of wood, he muttered_

_Break it up and float it to a distant shore_

_To pursue his own good_

"So how long have you been playing?" April asked, referring to the guitar which had now made its home in the backseat of the car.

"Since I was nine," I replied.

"You have any rock idols?" she asked, smiling.

"Yeah…two years ago I had myself convinced that I was the next Led Zeppelin."

"And that all changed?"

I shrugged. "I guess so."

"Why?"

"I had a reality check. I took a look at myself and realized that I could never be as good as Zeppelin, or anyone else."

"Way to have loads of self-esteem," April said, sarcastically.

I shrugged. "I don't care. I'm fine knowing that I'm just mediocre."

"Is that what your friends think or is that what _you think?"_

"What?"

"Well if it's just you who thinks you suck, you're being too hard on yourself. If it's your friends and other people who think you're bad, maybe you do suck," she grinned.

"Well…I think I'm horrible."

"What about the rest of your band?"

"Well…considering the fact that they chose me to be the lead guitarist, I guess they like me."

"Well. There you have it," April lay back in her seat, satisfied with herself. "You beat yourself up over nothing."

"I do not!" I retorted. "Besides, you've never heard me play. You can't judge it."

"Well then, how about you play for me?"

"I uh…I don't know."

"Why don't you?"

"I guess I could…maybe. Later. I'll see."

April shrugged, and we sat in silence for the next few minutes.

_The raft is floating 90 miles_

_Then freedom comes_

_It's coming closer to 90 miles_

_Then freedom comes_

"Can you stop here?" April asked, as we neared a gas station. "I have to pee."

"You have to pee," I repeated.

"Yes."

"I've never heard a girl say it like that."

"How the hell would you say it, then?"

"You'd say, 'I need to use the Ladies' Room.'"

"That's stereotypical and stupid. I need to take a piss."

"Okay, okay," I gave in, turning into the station.

As April rushed into the bathroom I walked into a little convenience store a few feet away.

Casually, I flipped through a few magazines and glanced at the packs of beer in the freezer.

The girl at the cash register stared at me, not blinking her eyes. She paused every few seconds to crack her gum. "You gonna buy something?" she asked.

"No, I'm just looking."

She rolled her eyes and sighed, an guiltily, I grabbed a small box of cough drops and placed it onto the counter, fishing around in my pocket for loose change.

"Seventy five cents," she said, her mood seeming to have risen, slightly.

"Roger? You ready?" April asked, sticking her head in from outside.

"Yep. Hold on a sec," I said, handing the money to the cashier.

April nodded and went back out to stand by the car.

"That your girlfriend?" the cashier asked, handing me back the cough drops.

"No," I said. "She's my sister." I shoved the cough drops into my pocket and went back outside to the car.

"You've got everything?" I asked April, as I slid back into the car.

"Yes."

"Good," I said, turning the key in the ignition. The motor stirred, and then died.

"No," I said quietly, turning the key again. I got the same response.

"Fuck!" I shouted, causing April to jump. "God damn it!" I swore, opening the car door and slamming it behind me.

"Roger? Roger get back here! What the hell are you doing?" April yelled as she scrambled after me.

Not answering her, I approached the gas tank and began ramming the heel of my foot into it.

"Jesus, Roger, CALM DOWN," April exclaimed.

"Calm down?" I exploded. "I drove all the way out here in some shitty car, knowing that it wouldn't get me far, thinking I could actually make it to Santa Fe to start a new life. And go figure, the damn thing died before I could get halfway there!" I sighed and leaned my elbow against the tank. "Maybe it was stupid coming out here. Maybe I should just go home."

"You really think you should?" April asked, quietly.

"There's nothing else left to do," I grumbled.

"How are we going to get anywhere with a dead car?"

"I don't know…wait. Mark!" I exclaimed.

"Mark?"

"My friend, Mark. Remember, I told you about him?"

"Yeah. What about him?"

"I'll call him, and he can pick us both up and drive us back home."

"He must be a pretty good friend if he'd be willing to drive all the way out here for you," April said, as I walked over to the pay phone, jamming a few quarters into it.

I dialed Mark's number and waited impatiently for him to pick up.

Mark had just recently bought a small apartment between Avenue A and B in the city. He'd moved out of his parent's house because he'd wanted 'More space to do his artistic work.' Mark was into filming. He had a video camera practically permanently attached to his hand. 

It was a miracle that he had the cordless phone already working. A blessing, even.

"Yeah?" Mark finally picked up the phone.

"Jeez, I'd be too scared to pick up the phone like that. Your mother would flip."

"Hi, Rog. You in Santa Fe yet?"

"I wish," I snorted. "My car just died."

"Oh, shit, that sucks…What are you going to do now?"

"Well, that's where you come in." I could almost hear Mark grimace.

"Could you come out here and pick us up?" I asked.

"Who's 'us?'"

"Oh…I met this girl on the road. Her name's April. We shared a motel room last night and she's just been traveling with me."

"You shared a motel room? Way to go, Roger!" Mark laughed.

"You asshole," I snapped.

"Hey, watch it- you want me to come get you, don't you?"

"Would you?"

"Yeah, I guess so. You're lucky I'm so flexible- I know for a fact that most of your friends would NEVER do this. Not even your parents."

"Don't I know it," I said. I told him where we were, and then checked the name of the gas station and gave that to him too.

"Okay, great. So I'll see you in what…three hours?" Mark asked. I could tell he was trying not to be too obviously sarcastic.

"If you drive fast," I said, flatly. "Thanks, Mark."

"Don't mention it. See you there."

"Bye," I said, hanging up the phone.

April stood beside me, questioningly.

"He's picking us up."

"Great," April sighed with relief. "So what do we do until then?" 

"I don't know…just go back in the car and hang out there for a while.

April shrugged. "Sounds like a plan."

We both got back in the car. The radio was still on.

_Will freedom come?_

_It's coming close_

_It's coming soon_

_It's been 23 days and 90 miles_

_Will freedom come?_

I reclined the chair and turned on my side, facing the window.

_Must be coming close_

_Must be coming soon, God knows_

I closed my eyes.

_It's been 23 days in oblivion._

I woke up to find Mark hovering over me.

"Wake up, Sunshine!" he sang, switching on his camera to film me and April.

"You've _got_ to grow out of that film-everything-in-sight phase," I groaned, as April stirred.

"You're April, I presume?" Mark asked her, from behind the lens.

"You presume right."

"April, this is my unfortunate friend, Mark. Mark, this is April."

"Don't forget _best_ friend," Mark corrected me, leaning forward to hold his hand out towards April, who shook it, hesitantly.

"You kids sure looked cozy in there."

"What time is it?" I asked.

"It's almost seven."

"Go figure," I yawned, grabbing my duffel bag and guitar case. Following my cue, April picked up her purse, and we followed Mark to his car.

"What are you going to do with the car?" April asked me.

I grinned. "Leave it to me." I turned to Mark. "Got any quarters?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I need to make a phone call."

He shrugged and turned out his pockets, handing me two quarters.

"Thanks," I said, walking back over to the payphone.

I dialed the number and waited for someone to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Dad?" I asked.

"Well, look who decided to call. You decide to turn around already?"

"My car died," I said.

"And I suppose you're expecting me to come and get you?" he asked. "Just because you decide all of a sudden you're responsible and you can just do whatever the hell you want?"

"I know you think I'm a nothing, Dad. You don't need to put it into words."

"A 'Nothing' isn't the right word," he muttered.

"I left the keys in the ignition, though. You can come and get it whenever you like," I said, and quickly began to recite to him where we were.

"WHAT? Pick it up? You buy that piece of shit car that you insisted on getting and then you expect me to babysit it for you? What the hell is wrong with you? You irresponsible ignoramus…I'll…"

I let the phone drop, ignoring the muffled yells coming out of the receiver. 

"Everything all right?" Mark asked, as the three of us got into his car.

"Everything's fine," I replied, grinning at April.

Song: 90 Miles by Daphne Rubin Vega

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	4. 4

"Roger?" Mark said, from the driver's seat.

"Yep?" I grunted, from the backseat. April and I hadn't had much debate over who'd sit up front with Mark- I'd wanted to stretch out in the back and sleep. Fortunately, Mark had littered the entire backseat with old soda cans, disposable camera wrappers, and old paperback books. Unconsciously, I plucked a random book from the floor of the car, and when I saw it was titled 'Catcher in the Rye,' I threw it back down and groaned.

"When the hell are you going to clean all this shit up?" I demanded.

"Christ, someone's cranky," Mark observed.

"Well _someone_ is trying to take a nap in the backseat but can't, because the owner of the car has littered the entire back of the car with junk."

"Sorry. It's usually just me in here, and my maid's on vacation, anyway.

I grunted in response.

"So where are you two going to go once we get back in New York?" Mark asked April and I.

I frowned. "I don't know. If I try to go back home, my dad will throw me back out of the house. Before kicking my ass, that is."

"What about you?" Mark asked April.

April shrugged. "I don't know. Rent a motel room. Maybe try to get a job. I was thinking I could be a waitress or something."

"Well, you know, my parents paid for half of my apartment…so it's not too shabby. There's an extra room, and I don't know what to use it for. I stocked it with some boxes of old tape reels of mine, but maybe if I cleared all that shit out, you two could sleep in there together? I've got extra pillows and blankets. And later on I can get an extra bed."

"And what makes you think April and I are willing to sleep together?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"You did last night, didn't you?" Mark smirked.

"Touche," I muttered under my breath.

"But seriously, Rog- think about it. My apartment's too big for just one person, and you could move in with me. April too. We could split the rent-you could pay your share by earning money from your gigs, I could try to make some money with my film, and April could get a job as a waitress, like she said."

"Sounds like a really twisted sitcom," I laughed. "Like that old show, 'Three's Company.' Except there's be two guys instead of two girls."

"Come on, Rog, quit fooling around. I'm serious."

"Well…I _do_ need a place to stay…at least until my dad decides to let me back in the house."

We both looked at April, waiting for her answer.

She blushed. "Oh, no, I couldn't do that…you two barely know me. It's really sweet of you to offer, but…I just feel like I'm barging in on both of your lives all of a sudden."

"Nothing's wrong with barging in," Mark told her. "If everyone in the world just sat around and twiddled their thumbs all day rather than barging in on people, do you think anything in this world would ever get done?"

"Yeah. Just look at the 60's," I chimed in. I didn't tell Mark that secretly I would really like April to live with us.

"Well…you're sure it wouldn't be a problem with either of you two?"

"Nope," I said.

"As long as you pay your share for the apartment," Mark added.

"Okay…it's a deal, then," April grinned.

I lay back in my seat, satisfied.

For the next half hour, the three of us sat in silence, occasionally pointing out an obscene license plate, or nudging Mark to turn to a different radio station. Unlike my car, his had a wide variety of radio stations.

"Hey, Rog, why don't you play something on your guitar?" Mark asked me.

"Um, no…I don't have anything to play," I said, fiddling with a loose piece of fabric from the interior of the car.

"Don't be modest, Roger. He's really good," he boasted to April, who turned to me. "I thought you said you were only mediocre," she said, smiling with her eyes.

"Roger? Mediocre? That's bull," Mark said. "Play something, Roger."

"Fine," I said finally, fumbling with the locks on the guitar case nervously. I had to cross my leg onto my lap and duck my head in order to balance the guitar comfortably on my knees.

"I wrote this with the band," I said. "It's called 'Drowning.'" I heard a noise of approval from Mark; he enjoyed this song.

Sighing, I began to strum out the chords on the guitar. I had to be careful that I didn't end up elbowing Mark's seat with my arm. My neck began to strain as I leaned downward, holding the neck of the guitar tightly.

_Maybe you assume to much_

_You wouldn't know, I'm drowning in you_

_Maybe you're hopes are too high; you wouldn't think_

_I'm drowning in you_

I knew that I didn't have the best voice. From the look on April's face, she was enjoying it.

_Stars don't burn forever, baby_

_Autumn leaves eventually fall_

_But you'd never assume that just as much,_

_We're like a falling star_

When I finally strummed the final chord of the song, Mark began to clap, loudly.

"Put your hands back on the wheel!" I snapped, embarrassed.

April had turned around in her seat, and had been watching me play the whole time. I'd been to absorbed in my song to notice at first.

"That was beautiful," she said, softly.

I shrugged. "It's nothing. I had insomnia, so I just scribbled that down."

"He writes his own stuff all the time," Mark informed her.

"You do?" April asked me, intrigued.

"Thanks, Mark," I muttered.

"It's nothing to be ashamed about. You're talented. Really," April said.

"I've seen people bang trash can lids together, and it sounds a hell of a lot better than I do."

"You'll have to excuse him. He's very fussy about his music," Mark sneered.

"I'm not," I snapped. "You two are just exaggerating."

Mark shrugged. "Whatever."

Not wanting to start a heated argument, I returned the fender to its case, spread out as much as I could along the backseat without impaling myself with all the junk Mark had thrown back here, and closed my eyes.

***

"Roger?" 

I awoke to feel April's hands gently nudging me away.

I groaned and sat up. I had a crick in my neck from leaning back too far against the window.

"Hey, Rog, we're home," Mark said.

I stretched, wincing with the pain in my neck, and saw that we were in the small parking lot outside Mark's apartment building. That is, if you would call it an apartment building.

"Do you need help carrying anything?" Mark asked me, as he grabbed his camera.

"Nah. I've just got the fender and my duffel. Bag. I'll be fine," I answered.

Mark shrugged. "Okay, if you're sure."

He led us into the entrance of the building, and then opened the door leading to the stairwell.

"What about the elevator?" April asked, pointing.

Mark shook his head. "That thing hasn't worked in weeks. They keep saying they'll get it fixed, but I think they're just saying that so we'll quit bugging them about it."

"Who's 'they?'" I asked.

Mark made a face. "The landlord. Samuel Grey. Goddamn bastard," he swore. "His daughter's kind of hot though," he grinned, a mischievous smile coming over his face. "Her name's Alison. She lives with her father in the apartment down that hallway," he said, pointing.

I looked at April and rolled my eyes. Typical Mark.

"So- you two wanna see the pad?" Mark asked, leading us up the stairs.

Obediently, we followed him.

"Is that all you brought with you?" Mark asked April, seeing that she was only carrying a purse.

"Yeah…I sort of left the house in a hurry," April said, and I could see that she was uncomfortable talking about it with Mark. "Once I get a job I can buy clothes and all that stuff," she said, shrugging. "It's no big deal."

"Alright," Mark said, as we approached his apartment on the very top floor. He took his keys out of his pocket and began to jiggle with the lock. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you-The Loft," he said, as the door swung open.

I went in first. The floor was littered with empty cardboard boxes, labeled with a black sharpie pen that I was unable to read, due to Mark's scrawled handwriting.

There was a small entranceway, with a narrow closet, and there was a small kitchen- too small for a large table. Mark had placed two barstools in front of the counter to sit on. There was a tiny bathroom, with a toilet that didn't flush, (Mark promised us that he was going to get it fixed,) a small living space in which Mark had placed an old overstuffed sofa and a dinky TV with barely any reception, and two small bedrooms. The one that didn't have any furniture in it yet, I assumed, was going to be mine and April's.

"You like?" Mark asked, catching up with us. "It's not exactly a hotel suite- but it's not too bad."

I nodded in response.

"I'll go get an extra blanket and some pillows for you to from my room," Mark said, placing his camera down on a small wooden table next to the bathroom door.

"Okay," I said, and watched him disappear into his room. I glanced at April. She caught my eye and smiled at me. "Not too bad," she said, as she took another look around the apartment.

I agreed with her. It wasn't too bad at all.


	5. 5

"Mark!" I rapped the back of my hand against the bathroom door the next morning, rubbing the corners of my eyes with the other. I'd gotten up earlier in order to take a shower, as I had been sitting in a car for almost three days straight without doing so.

"Come on, I need to wash my hair," I whined, the sound of running water muffling my complaints.

I huffed. "Fine, Mark, I'm coming in there," I said through gritted teeth, butting the door open with my shoulder.

"Get out of there, you little prick," I demanded, yanking the plastic shower curtain aside with my hand.

It wasn't until I heard April shriek with surprise that I realized my mistake. She grasped the shower curtain and struggled to cover herself with it, but it was too late. I'd seen it all. I panicked, spun around, and dashed like lightening out of the bathroom, closing it quickly behind me.

"Oh, shit," I breathed, pressing my back against the door.

"What the hell was that?" I heard Mark's tired voice call from the other room.

"Nothing," I called back, feeling my face flush. I'd take a rain-check on the shower.

***

"Morning, Roger," Mark greeted me cheerily from the kitchen counter. April sat in the barstool beside him, wearing an old terry cloth bathrobe. Mark must have let her borrow it.

"Morning," I murmured, refusing to look at April.

"Want some juice?" Mark offered, handing me the carton of orange juice.

"Thanks," I said, reaching for a glass.

"Aw, be a man. Drink it from the carton," Mark teased.

I glared at him as I poured the liquid into the glass.

"So, did you guys sleep alright?" Mark asked me, holding back a grin.

"Yes. The floor was unusually cozy," I replied, sarcastically.

"You weren't on the floor," Mark protested. He had dug up two old sleeping bags out of his closet for me and April to use for the night.

"Sleeping bag, floor, same thing," I said, taking a swig of juice.

Mark shrugged and turned to April. "So, were you able to manage everything? I left out an extra toothbrush and bottle of shampoo for you. I didn't know whether you'd want to take a shower in the morning or not."

"I managed fine," April said, looking at me.

My cheeks reddened.

"What about you, Rog? I thought you said last night you were going to shower."

"I did."

"When?"

"This morning."

"Your hair's not wet."

"I blew it dry."

"Roger, I don't own a hair dryer."

"He went walking outside with me early this morning," April cut in. "The wind blew it dry for us," she said, winking at me.

"When id you take one then?" Mark asked.

"Once we got home."

Everything was silent for a moment.

Mark shrugged. "You guys are nuts," he said, getting up to put the juice back in the refrigerator.

I mouthed a 'Thank you' to April once he had his back turn, and she smiled lightly and casually bit into her toast.

Mark closed the refrigerator. "So," he said. "I was thinking of heading out and getting some stuff from the convenience store. You know, toothpaste, shampoo, towels. Stuff like that."

I yawned. "Mark, we need a mattress so sleep on."

"I'm working on it. Right now the best I can do is drag the sofa into your room so at least one of you is a bit comfier." He smiled at April. "And I'm sure Roger would be the perfect gentlemen and let you have the sofa all to yourself." He turned to face me. "Right, Roger?"

I grunted in response.

"Isn't he just the perfect gentlemen?" he asked April.

April laughed. "Indeed."

"Alright, so you guys make a list of stuff you want me to pick up for you on the way back, okay?"

"I can tell you that off the top of my head," I said.

Mark looked at me, waiting.

"Hair gel, a comb, mousse, a blow dryer, some aftershave, and strawberry poptarts."

Mark paused. "Um, okay. You want fries with that?"

"Shut up," I grumbled.

"Jeez, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today," Mark exclaimed.

I shrugged. "I'm not a morning person. You've known me long enough to know that. Besides, I didn't sleep in a bed, remember? I have the right to be cranky."

Mark shrugged. "Whatever. Anything you want, April?"

"Just a hairbrush, toothpaste. I'll go out and buy some extra pairs of clothes for myself later. Oh, and could you maybe pick up one of those old novels they usually sell up front?"

"Novels," I repeated, dumbfounded.

"Yeah. Books," Mark informed me.

"I KNOW what they are," I snapped. "I'm just surprised that she's asking for a book, that's all."

April shrugged. "I like to read."

"Any preferences?" Mark asked her.

"Nah. Just anything that looks interesting. I'll let you decide for me."

"Alright," Mark said, and I could see that he was making a mental note of everything. "I got some extra pity money from my mom…so we could do some furniture shopping together later too. We need at least two beds…" he grinned. "Unless you two wouldn't mind sleeping in a bed together."

"_I_ would," I said, blushing.

Mark laughed. "I'm kidding. I'm just going to go around the corner and get that stuff for you, okay? I'll be back in a little while. You two keep each other company."

"Okay," I answered. "Don't forget the poptarts."

Mark rolled his eyes as he exited the Loft.

April and I glanced at each other uneasily for a moment. I was hoping that she wasn't about to bring up what had happened earlier. Luckily, she didn't.

"I guess I'll just read a magazine or something until he gets back," she said cheerfully, picking up a magazine from off the floor. I saw the words, 'Photo Weekly' on the front cover.

"Yeah, I'm going to uh…take a shower," I said uneasily.

April shrugged. "Alright. Have fun."

I let out a breath of air and made my way into the bathroom, making a note to lock the door behind me.

***

I carefully stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my waist, and ducked into the 'bedroom' that Mark had set up for April and I to change. April was nowhere to be seen.

I quickly changed into a ripped pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt with a few holes near the sleeve from wearing it so often. The shirt showed off my arms, and I admired the tattoos on the sides of my arms in front of the mirror. I only had four, now. Two on each arm. My dad had flipped out when he finally saw them. That was probably when he had begun to lose all hope for me.

I sighed and raked my fingers through my hair, trying to spike it up. I squinted at the mirror, checking whether or not I needed to shave. I saw my fender lying out of the case on its side out of the corner of my eye, and placed the mirror down and picked it up from off the floor.

I sat Indian style on the couch cushion that Mark brought into the room. It was his idea of a couch. I slipped the strap over my neck, and plucked the pick from between the strings, and began to strum out a song. After the first few chords, without realizing it at first, I began to sing the words to the song;

_If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you_

_When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me_

_Kind woman, I give you my all, kind woman, nothing more_

_Little drops of rain whisper of the pain, tears of love lost in the days gone by_

_My love is strong, with you there is no wrong,_

_Together we shall go until we die_

_My, my, my…_

_An inspiration is what you are to me…inspiration, look, see,_

_And so today, my world, it smiles your hand in mine, we walk the miles_

_Thanks to you it will be done, for you to me are the only one_

_Happiness, no more be sad, happiness…I'm glad._

I sang the first two lines over again and strummed the final chord. I pulled the guitar strap over my neck and placed the neck between my knees and sighed. 

It was only then I saw April in the doorway, watching me intently.

"Oh, uh…I um…" I mumbled, searching for something to say.

"That was beautiful," she said, softly. "Did you write that?"

I snorted.

"What?" she asked, a small smile on her face.

"You really think I'm capable of writing something like that?"

She shrugged. "Considering you wrote the song you played in the car, yes. And that was beautiful too."

"Thanks. I _wish_ I had what it takes to write something like this. It's by Led Zeppelin. Ever hear of them?"

"Yes. But I haven't heard any of their songs until now."

I shrugged. "Well, they sound much better than me. You should hear them live."

"Have you gone to any of their concerts?"

"Once. I went with a couple of guys from my high school. It got pretty crazy, and me and some other people left early. We were really far away anyway. We couldn't see a goddamn thing. And the speakers were all fucked up."

"Sounds like fun."

"Oh, it was," I assured her. I walked over to the window sill and leaned against it with my elbow, gazing onto the fire escape.

"Have you lived in New York all your life?" April asked.

"Yup. In the suburbs. You?"

"New Jersey. Not too far from here. But far enough."

I nodded, wondering what 'far enough' meant.

"It gets lonely," April said softly, "Just me and my dad. When my mom first got sick, I skipped school to stay home and take care of her. So I didn't really have any friends either. Then she died, and I was left alone with my dad. And he hates me."

"I'm sorry," I said, softly. "But if it makes you feel any better, my parents probably hate me by now too."

April shook her head. "Not like my dad does," she muttered.

I paused for a second, giving her the opportunity to explain more. She didn't, and I assumed she would tell me more when she was ready.

"I'm back!" I heard Mark call from the other room. "Guys? Where are you? I got the stuff you asked for."

We heard Mark scuffling around the apartment, and finally he found us.

"Oh, there you are," he said. "I got the stuff for you," he said, handing me a brown paper bag.

"Thanks," I said, grabbing a plastic comb from the bottom of the bag to run it through my hair.

"What'd you guys do while I was gone?"

I shrugged. "I took a shower. Played the guitar for a while."

Mark nodded. "Oh."

I knew he was hoping that something else had happened.

"So," Mark said, waving the cordless phone in front of my face. "Who wants Chinese?"


	6. 6

A/N: Sorry it's been taking me so long to update! But here ya go…

ONE WEEK LATER

"Whatcha reading?"

I jumped, startled.

"Sorry," April laughed, sitting down on the couch beside me.

"Could you not read over my shoulder again?" I complained.

April grinned, sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Thank you." I rustled the magazine and opened it up to the page I'd been looking at before being so rudely interrupted.

A few moments later, I looked up again.

April had moved to the little wooden chair across from the couch I was sitting on, sitting on it backwards.

"_What_?" I snapped.

"What _are_ you reading?" she asked, looking interested.

"None of your business," I retorted.

An amused look came over her face. "Why? You looking at playboy or something?"

"No," I exclaimed, my cheeks flushing.

April laughed. "Then what's the big deal?"

"Fine, you wanna know, here you go," I thrusted the magazine out towards her.

April took it from my hand gently and looked at it. "It's a guitar."

"Yeah, well, it ain't no trumpet" I said, pulling up a chair beside her and glancing at it with her.

"What kind?"

"A Gibson Les Paul."

"A Gibson Les _who_?"

I laughed. "Gibson's the brand. Les Paul is the name of the guitar."

"Oh." She paused. "Is that the kind you want?"

I shrugged. "My fender's not so bad. Kind of old and beat up. But yeah, it'd be a dream come true to get this baby." I snorted. "Like I could ever get the money for it."

"Maybe you could," April argued.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, how? Strumming in the Subway?"

April shrugged. "You never know."

"What are you two lovebirds doing?" Mark asked, entering the room wearing only a pair of red and white plaid boxers.

I winced. "God, Mark! Put some clothes on!"

Mark turned to April. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

April giggled. "No."

"Right then. I think I'll stay where I am," Mark said, lying down on the couch. "Whatcha doin?"

"Looking at guitars," April told him.

Mark groaned. "Rog, you _still_ staring at that Gibson Les whatever thing?"

"_Les Paul_," I corrected him.

"Yeah, whatever. A guitar's a guitar."

"Yeah. And a video camera's a video camera."

Mark shrugged. "Touche."

"Here, put this on," I said, tossing a balled up T-shirt at him from off the floor. "We really need to do the laundry," I said, glancing around the apartment. "There's dirty clothes piled up _everywhere_."

"Yes, mom," Mark mimicked. April laughed and crawled onto the couch beside him.

I frowned. For some reason it bothered me seeing the two of them so lovey-dovey. 

"We'll do it tomorrow," Mark said, pulling the T-shirt over his head.

There. He was doing it again. "_We'll_ do it tomorrow."

"So, Rog…you find any jobs to your liking?"

"No," I said, glancing at the folded up newspaper beside me. "I looked in the newspaper but there was nothing that appealed to me."

"So you resorted to staring at a picture of a guitar for twenty minutes," April said.

I looked at her.

She smiled.

I couldn't help but smile back.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Money's money, Roger. Sometimes you just have to do what you can to get some spare change. Whether it's walking someone's dogs or wiping a baby's ass."

"Well I don't see _you_ finding any jobs," I snapped back at him.

His face flushed. "I'm working on it."

"Right." I leaned back in my chair and looked at April. "And what do you plan on doing to make a living?"

"I got a job as a waitress at The Life Café," April answered, automatically.

I gestured my hands toward her. "There you have it. A good hard worker."

"I'm going to get a job, Roger," Mark said. "And so will you."

I shrugged.

Mark stood up. "I'm going to attempt to make us some breakfast. You guys like pancakes?"

"I do. I'll help you," April said, standing up.

"You wanna help, Rog?"

"Nah. I think I'll sit here and stare at this guitar some more," I said, sarcastically.

Mark shrugged. "Suit yourself." He and April trailed off into the kitchen.

Groaning, I reached out with my arm and punched my fist into one of the couch pillows, causing the newspaper to flop over and fall to the ground.

After a moment, I leaned over to pick it up. It had landed so that the Want Ads were facing up.

As I picked it up, an ad caught my eye that I must have missed before.

_Wanted- An experienced, but not too professional lead guitarist.__ Must be comfortable with both acoustic and electric guitars. Style of playing must be hardcore rock- no wimpy country acoustics. Must have decent vocals._

Below that was a phone number to call if interested, and the name of the band. _The Well Hungarians_.

"Weird name," I murmured to myself.

"Rog, come in! We need a third pair of hands in here!" Mark called from the kitchen.

I ignored him, and continued to stare at the ad.

"_ROGER!_ Come on! What are you doing in there?"

"Nothing," I grinned. "Just found a job, that's all."

***

"How do you know if you're going to get it or not?" Mark asked me later that night.

Roger shrugged. "I've got a feeling, that's all."

"You've got a feeling," Mark repeated, popping the top to a can of beer. "I'd say you have to take a piss is all."

"Hey, you want me to start making money or not?"

Mark shrugged. "Okay, okay." He offered me a sip of his beer.

"No thanks. I have to use the bathroom," I said, getting up.

Mark laughed. "Told you!" he called after me.

Without thinking, I opened the bathroom door without knocking.

"_ROGER!_"

"Jesus Christ, _again_?" I exclaimed, relieved to see that she was not in the shower or using the toilet.

"It's called knocking," she snapped. She was fully clothed, and had a washcloth draped around her arm.

"It's called locking the door," I snapped back.

"Where've you been? The lock on this thing is busted."

"What _are_ you doing in here?" I asked, seeing a razor resting on the side of the bathtub.

"Shaving my legs," she said quickly, reaching for the razor with her other arm, knocking it onto the tiles.

She mumbled something under her breath.

"Here, I'll get it," I said, reaching down.

"No, that's okay," she said quickly, trying to grab it before I could reach it. As she did, the washcloth wrapped around her arm fell to the floor, revealing her bare skin, with the sleeve rolled up to the elbow.

I stared in shock.

"Goddamn it," April swore, picking up the towel again and placing it on her arm.

"Where did you get those?" I asked, referring to the several red marks on her arm.

April snorted. "What do you want me to say? I had a run-in with a cat? I _cut_, Roger."

"You cut…" I said, slowly. Now looking at the tub, I could see a few small drops of blood that had refused to slide down the drain.

"Yes. For about a year now," she sighed.

"Why?" I asked, still in shock.

April shrugged. "My dad. The stress. Whenever I'd get so mad that I could kill him, I'd lock myself up in the bathroom and do it."

"So instead of hurting your dad, you hurt yourself," I said, quietly.

April didn't answer and stared at the floor.

"Wait…if you've been doing it for over a year, how come I didn't see the marks when I first picked you up?" I asked, remembering the sleeveless sundress that she'd had on.

April picked at her cuticles. "My dad sent me to this rehab for two months. He had no proof that I did anything besides cutting…but he wanted to get rid of me, and there was no reason why the doctors there shouldn't have believed him. They let me out two months later, with some prescriptions to fill out," she snorted. "I started up again a few nights ago anyhow."

"The Anti-Depressants," I said to myself, quietly.

"What?"

"That's why you had the Anti-Depressants in your purse."

"Oh, _great_. You went through my stuff?"

"It fell off the bed in the motel," I snapped. "And I was picking it back up for you. I saw the bottles when they rolled out of your purse."

April rolled her eyes. "Right. I'm sleeping in the same room as a thief."

"And what about me? I'm sleeping in the same room as a girl who cuts herself!"

"Oh, just forget this," she growled. "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right. I probably _wouldn't_," I snapped, standing to my feet. "And frankly, I don't care to understand ay further."

"Fine," she snapped back at me.

"Fine!" I reached for the doorknob.

"Roger?" April asked in a softer, more collect voice just as I opened the door.

"What?" I said, gruffly.

"Just…don't tell Mark, okay?"

I shook my head. "Right." I exited the bathroom and let the door close loudly behind me.

***

A/N:*Rubs hands together* Ohhhh I have SUCH good plans for this story. The things you think up in a single night. Love? Hate? Reviews are what keep the night oil running!


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